


And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me

by D20Owlbear



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Blasphemy, Blasphemy kink, Crowley has a penis, Crowley is a giant fire-horned serpent with stars in his wings, D/s overtones, M/M, Monsterfucking, Other, Sacreligeous prayer, Temptations, aziraphale has a penis, demonic form, highly nsfw, less true form and more demonic form, or more, or something, pre-negotiated scene, rated E for demon dicks, safeword
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 22:06:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21363403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/D20Owlbear
Summary: “You want to be Tempted, Angel?” Aziraphale nodded, looking perfectly innocent as a pile of whipped cream on a spice cake.Aziraphale absolutely did want to be Tempted, and by Go- by Someone, Crowley was sure as Hell going to deliver.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 49
Kudos: 272
Collections: Chaotic Omens: The Fallout of a Big Bang, Ixnael’s Recommendations





	And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me

**Author's Note:**

> Title are lines from Break, Break, Break by Lord A. Tennyson
> 
> Thank you to my lovely betas, sosobriet and zizzy

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Crowley watched Aziraphale’s face intently, not hardly moving at all, only enough to force the air through his vocal cords and make a sound. As it was, he could do little more than whisper, his voice raspy and heavy with some unidentified  _ hunger _ .

“You want to be Tempted, Angel?” Aziraphale answered with a nod, looking as innocent as a pile of whipped cream on a spice cake. Something to desire, not only because it was tempting in and of itself, but because it fit the tastes of the one looking at it so perfectly. 

Crowley stepped forward, every pace measured as carefully as his heartbeat, every movement analyzed into oblivion. He circled around the back of Aziraphale’s chair, moving from his left side to his right, only to lean over his shoulder and flick his split tongue-tips over the shell of Aziraphale’s ear.

“Now?” He breathed, poised with muscled coiled under the surface of smooth skin and waiting, a perfect predator. “And the other thing? That too?”

Aziraphale swallowed and flushed a little under his collar, faint pink peeking out from underneath cream shirt and tartan bowtie. All soft, vulnerable skin gone red with rushing blood. Crowley’s tongue flicked again, picking out the scent of heady musk as he pulled it back to the roof of his mouth and made a show of pressing his nose into the hair curled behind Aziraphale’s ear, breathing warm against the nape of his neck. “Say it, Angel, or I won’t. If you don’t want to, or not now, that’s fine, but if you don’t say it we won’t. I  _ won’t  _ misinterpret you here.” 

“Y-yes, you foul fiend.” Crowley grinned at Aziraphale's stutter, his mouth stretched wide around too many teeth, every one sharp and pointed as a dagger. His eyes had gone yellow from corner to corner in his excitement, but he stepped back without warning, turning on his heel to march from the room, leaving Aziraphale to sway breathlessly where Crowley left him.

Aziraphale watched him go, wide eyes fixed on the swing of his hips, trying to force the breath back into his lungs.He worked on unknotting his hands from where he’d been twisting his fingers in his lap. Quickly he stood and followed Crowley through his flat and into the kitchen where the damned snake was sitting casually at the kitchen island on a barstool and sipping at coffee as if Aziraphale wasn’t already worked up.

“Oh, did you need something, Angel?” Crowley purred over the lip of his mug before taking another insufferable sip, keeping eye contact with Aziraphale all the while. 

“Wha- but- Crowley!” Aziraphale wanted to stomp his foot in a fit of pique, but he knew it would make him look like a petulant heiress, spoilt and prone to drama. Still, it was a close thing. It wasn’t lost on Crowley that Aziraphale did rather well as those sorts of roles, and had nearly forgotten how much he liked riling him up to this point.

“Yes, Angel?” Crowley still looked very much like the cat who’d gotten his claws on both the cream and the canary with nary a consequence in sight. He dragged a thumb across his lips, wiping off whatever drops of coffee beaded there and licked the pad of his thumb clean.

“I thought you were going to,” the angel floundered, sucking in a sharp breath at Crowley’s tongue and his eyes dilated in rather obvious arousal, and waved his hands about uselessly, trying to pluck the words he was searching for from the very air, “You know...”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley chortled, obviously  _ very _ pleased with himself, “You can’t rush these sorts of things. Not if you really want to be Tempted.” 

Aziraphale frowned slightly to himself in thought. “Oh? I thought it was the same sort of thing as Blessings, you know, demonic intervention and all that.”

“It can be. Not usually how I like to do it, though. Not how most of them like to, practically taking away their agency and all. If you make something so  _ overwhelmingly _ tempting that only the likes of Saints and Angels can overcome it, they’ve got no choice, not really. Not much fun in that, no  _ finesse _ to it at all. Unless it’s something they already really want, but  _ know _ they shouldn't. It’s all about choice, about  _ corruption _ , you know. So you’ve got to do it with little nudges, bring people to the ends of their ropes.” He stood and moved over to Aziraphale until he was standing in front of him, their bellies touching just barely, and he hooked his index fingers into the waistband of Aziraphale’s trousers, only a little, only enough to encourage him to move one way or another but not enough to force him any which way.

“You want to be Tempted, love,” Crowley leaned in, his breath hot on Aziraphale’s neck as he never quite touched him, just let the warmth of his breath caress sensitive skin, primed and ready to be touched, aching for anything that might end the  _ waiting _ . 

“And you want me to do it. I’m the best Tempter this side of Eden,” his voice lowered into a dark, promising purr, “So you’ll damn well be Tempted. Properly. And with no quarter given to you,  _ Angel _ .” He hissed the word like one might moan a name, breathy and intoxicated.

Once more he stepped back, returning to his chair and smirking at Aziraphale as he wobbled at the knees, nearly enough to stumble. This was most certainly going to be  _ fun _ , he hadn’t Tempted someone with a capital T anytime recently, not since long before the world was supposed to end.

After that, for weeks, Crowley would ambush Aziraphale whenever he looked as if he wouldn’t expect it. Crowding into his personal space and generally making a menace of himself in such a way that anyone looking in might think it harassment - the way the tall, lanky man with fire-red hair, dressed in all black, loomed over the sweet, innocent shopkeep who may or may not have been a bit of a bastard.

He wouldn’t touch him, hands always firmly in his pockets or on the wall on either side of Aziraphale’s head, caging him in. Never did more than trail his lips and the tip of his nose lightly, oh so lightly. Little more than a whisper of sensation to raise the hair across Aziraphale’s skin and on the back of his neck. What he wanted, what he needed, was to encourage the feeling of being corralled and followed and  _ hunted _ . 

It didn’t take long to turn the angel into a mess, heart beating faster at every creak of the floorboards, or whisper of hands trailing over wood shelving, or even the ever-present sensation of being watched by someone - some _ thing _ \- he couldn’t see. He was starting to anticipate Crowley’s touches that never came, but were  _ so close, _ if only he could make Crowley touch him. It started to consume his thoughts, and more than a few times he caught himself thinking about increasingly outlandish scenarios of ways to make Crowley  _ touch _ him with more than just his eyes and breath.

And finally,  _ finally _ , after 10 weeks of this treatment making Aziraphale desperate enough to nearly forget about what he’d agreed to, he came back from pouring himself a cuppa to find Crowley lounging in the shop. Aziraphale could tell the door had been locked and the sign turned to closed in the few moments he was gone. 

Crowley was finally somewhere he’d allowed Aziraphale to see him first. Just… sitting there. Didn’t even pay attention to Aziraphale when he came in, and didn’t look up from his phone at all. So Aziraphale sat warily in his chair and carefully opened the book to his previous spot and began to read, slowly relaxing after a few minutes and becoming engrossed in the book. He startled almost an hour later when Crowley reached past him to turn on the lamp over Aziraphale’s shoulder, breathing out a sigh (of relief? disappointment?) when Crowley only chuckled and still didn’t touch him. After a moment, he went back to reading. 

“Aziraphale, angele dei, sede alligareque. Principate, genuflecte alligareque. Virtus tua arceatur et anima tua sepiatur in corpore tuo.” * Aziraphale started to feel heavier, like a fog was settling around his eyes and shoulders. His blinks grew slower and longer, almost like he was getting tired somehow. 

Until he realized that Crowley was right in front of him. He glanced up and stood abruptly, knocking over the chair and the lamp in his surprise, wincing at the sound of the crash. He was surrounded by a chalk circle of painstakingly written Enochian words ringed around kabbalistic symbols - including an altered Maveth from a Mezuza. When he looked into the ethereal plane, he saw a Merkabah in three dimensions - still somehow written in chalk.

“Intra hunc circulum alligare; extra, solvere. Hae candelae accensae alligent te; haec vox, quae dixit nomen tuum, alliget te.” * Crowley continued to chant in a low, dulcet tone, nearly monophonic. Like a Gregorian hymn. At the thought, heat filled Aziraphale’s body and he felt more and more confined within it, not that those two things were necessarily connected. He might have panicked at the situation if he hadn’t given Crowley the spell a handful of weeks ago in an attempt to get the infernal man to move a bit quicker for once.

“Vox tua dicat verbum quid te solvet.” * Crowley paused meaningfully in his recitation and made intense eye contact with Aziraphale, drawing a soft gasp from his lips,  _ that  _ hadn’t been in the original spell, and if he thought before now that he couldn’t be more in love - well, he’d just been proven wrong, again. Aziraphale worked his mouth a few times wordlessly before drawing in a deep breath to steady himself and thought hard, of something that wouldn’t  _ ever  _ come up in a conversation with Crowley.

“Shangri-la.” Crowley rolled his eyes dramatically but nodded with a sharp half-smile.

“Illud verbum te solvat. Amen.” * Crowley finished. Lightning flashed outside the shop and all the lights inside save the candles in the circle shorted out Crowley stepped carelessly over chalk markings that didn't dare smudge. His eyes flashed in the dim flickering light as his sunglasses were thrown to the couch and he stalked up to Aziraphale like he had so many times before. But this time, Aziraphale could do nothing about it. His entire form trembled and he felt all at once too pinched - stuffed into a space much smaller than he was meant to inhabit - entirely too vulnerable without his power to match Crowley's own. 

"Foolish Angel," Crowley grinned wildly. He untied his scarf, removing it only to snap his fingers and have it appear tied around Aziraphale's wrists. He left one end trailing, and held it in his hand as if it were a leash and collar. 

"You dare let your Adversary invade your home? Even knowing he might bring traps? I never thought you  _ stupid _ before, Angel…" Crowley chuckled, a dark thing that filled Aziraphale’s bones with something like terror and the rest of him with intense arousal. Aziraphale’s human heart beat rapidly and his breath came in short, shallow pants. He was nearly undone by the too-gentle grip of Crowley’s clawed hand on his forearm after weeks upon weeks of being tortured with hardly any touch at all. Even worse were the weeks of his almost-touch, like whispering ghosts that made him burn and yearn for  _ something _ , for anything at all.

“Crowley,” he keened, knees buckling for a half-moment before he righted himself with both his hands fisted tightly in the sleeve of Crowley’s usual blazer. He wasn't quite sure anymore what exactly he was asking for in the first place- only that he wanted anything that ended with Crowley’s hands upon him. “Crowley,  _ please _ .”

“What is it, Angel?” Crowley murmured enticingly, looming over him as his clawed hand on Aziraphale’s arm gripped tighter - until Aziraphale felt a faint pricking at his skin, even through the material of his jacket and shirt underneath. The angel in question gasped and moaned softly, worked up beyond belief and unable to force himself to stand any longer. Crowley let him fall, knowing he wouldn’t really be hurt by it, and instead kept a hand around the scarf so that when Aziraphale’s knees hit the rug his arms were held above his head and he had to lean against Crowley’s firm thigh to keep from unbalancing entirely.

“Naughty angel,” The demon purred, snake-thin tongue flicking out from his lips to wet them - pulling in the musky scent of their shared arousal that commingled and filled the room. “Already overcome by just a  _ bit _ of demonic power.” He pulled up and back on the scarf, unbalancing Aziraphale, and then let go of it entirely so that the angel now trapped in human form would fall prone.

On the floor, belly up and feeling entirely exposed, Aziraphale raised his eyes to meet Crowley’s and trembled. Sparking fire raced down his spine and coiled heavily in his gut as Crowley stepped forward and went down on bended knee beside him, clawed hands tracing over his stomach and sides. 

"What have you done, Angel," Crowley purred. It wasn't a question. If it had been, Aziraphale wouldn't have had an answer, other than to blush prettily, soft pink coloring his cheeks beneath his wide eyes.

“Angel, my angel.” Crowley cooed, pressing Aziraphale further, pinning him to the floor with a single hand on the center of Aziraphale's chest. It was almost too easy with the angel bound and at his mercy, possessing no more power than a human. Apprehension briefly crept through Aziraphale at that thought, but it just as quickly went on its way. Crowley would never hurt him, not in any way that mattered. Not in any way he hadn't asked for.

“Angel of Heaven, rejoice,” Crowley began, voice low and his words slow as he began reciting. Aziraphale’s breath hitched - he knew the prayer - as the demon above him grinned. “Alleluia!”

“For He whomst I was looking to bear,” Crowley grasped the scarf around Aziraphale’s hands and snapped his fingers so that the shop ladder materialized from across the room. It came to rest against the nearest shelf, the lowest rung in easy reaching distance. Aziraphale’s heart hammered in the confines of his chest and his lips parted in a wanton moan. 

“Alleluia!” Crowley’s voice took on a deep, dark quality, it was the deep and fathomless seas and as promising as the void between stars and other celestial bodies. In his eyes Aziraphale could see himself reflected in honey-gold. Everything that was best in him, everything that was Good, shone back at him from Crowley's bright eyes. 

“Has risen, as Thouy said,” The demon smirked as the hand on Aziraphale's chest trailed down to the front of his trousers and brushed lightly over the front. A searing touch pulled another moan from Aziraphale, utterly helpless to his body’s demands for more. Aziraphale bucked up against Crowley’s hand, chasing whatever friction he might be able to force, and groaned in disappointment when Crowley’s hand retreated too quickly for any sort of relief.

“ _ Alleluia! _ ” Crowley hissed, pleased with both himself and how worked up Aziraphale had become. “Pray for me to hold fast, Aziraphale,” he returned his hand to the cradle of Aziraphale's hips and pressed firmly against Aziraphale’s erection, wrenching a surprised, keening wail from him. Crowley curled his hand so that the heel of his palm was pressed against Aziraphale’s pelvis, exerting just enough pressure that he couldn’t move his hips against the solid press of Crowley’s fingers. And then he waited.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale panted, shameless mouth opened in a perpetual, silent moan. Crowley only raised an eyebrow and repeated the last line of the prayer.

“Pray for me to hold fast.” A demand - nothing more, nothing less. He was more than content to hold Aziraphale here until his lust-wrecked mind powered through the thought, and so he did. Aziraphale writhed, or attempted to, in vain. He scrabbled at the arm connected to the clawed fingers pressing down on his chest, desperate for movement, for anything; “Crowley _ , please!” _

Long moments passed where Aziraphale did not get what he wanted, no matter how he moved and cried out. Until, finally, Aziraphale settled and came back to himself, at least in part. “Crowley,” he breathed, a litany of pleas falling from his lips like sun-warmed honey, holy and Good in its earnest simplicity, “ _ Please _ , my love,  _ please _ !”

“Alleluia.” Crowley muttered hoarsely, his lips descending upon Aziraphale's mouth to devour every breath from his lungs and every moan from his throat. His tongue swept inside Aziraphale’s mouth like a storm through harbor, leaving no moor untouched in its ferocity. His claws cut through the tweed trousers keeping himself, and Aziraphale, from further blessing. His scale-rough palm pressed against velveteen skin, wrapping around Aziraphale, flesh like an iron rod, with no grace and certainly no mercy. He rubbed the pad of his thumb lazily over the tip where wetness beaded and spilled over, pulling sweet moans from the angel as his hips bucked up to fuck Crowley’s hand. He was too far gone for anything more.

Aziraphale moaned his thankful prayer into Crowley’s mouth as  _ blessed  _ ecstasy overtook him. His essence spilled over the back of Crowley's black-scaled hand where it was still slowly twisting and stroking Aziraphale’s oversensitive flesh. He shivered and moaned at the devastating sensations shooting up his spine and ricocheting down his legs. 

Despite the overstimulation, Aziraphale whined at the loss of Crowley’s hand around his cock.He peeled his eyes open, unable to recall when he’d closed them in the first place, and moaned, loud and shameless, at the sight of Crowley’s tongue wrapped around his own fingers to clean them of Aziraphale’s seed. He watched until he couldn't bear it anymore, then let his eyes flutter closed once more, overwhelmed. Crowley’s eyes never left Aziraphale’s, heated desire turning them to molten gold, his own appetite roiling beneath the surface and waiting for his chance to devour the bound angel whole.

Once his hand was licked clean, Crowley slithered between Aziraphale’s legs, his hands wrapping firmly around Aziraphale’s thighs just above the knee. With a start, Aziraphale realized Crowley’s fingers encircled the entirety of his generous thighs. He pushed himself up onto his elbows to take in Crowley’s form. He'd grown unnaturally large while Aziraphale hadn't been paying attention, his body elongating to take up far more space than humanly possible. His lower limbs had become a thick, serpentine tail as wide as Aziraphale was in his human-shape. In certain places, predominantly around Crowley’s cheeks and neck, some of the black scales had been replaced with shining white light. Too bright for Aziraphale to look at long with his angelic self sealed away, unable to protect the very human’s eyes he was confined to looking through. 

Some of the lights shone even through the cover of Crowley's long, carmine curls. Those, Aziraphale could bear to look at, even if only from the corners of his eyes.

The pair of black wings sprouting from Crowley’s back were flared out and in the void of pitch dark feathers more sparks of light could be seen - moving like kaleidoscopes of infinite color and variety. Each mark a burning fire in miniature, thousands of stars clustered in the backdrop of ever expanding, fathomless vacuums of space. It was beautiful in all the ways that storms are beautiful and dangerous - making those caught in their fury feel small and insignificant. Incomprehensible, ineffable, Holy and profane. 

Two more pairs of wings manifested as high and wide as the massive black ones interposed between the newest additions. They were transparent and sparked with fire, swirling with the ever-shifting colors of meteorite dust and half-formed cosmos and nebulae in the place between reality and memory.

Eight horns of burning embers rose from Crowley’s head between thick locks of hair, two large and thick, set wide out from his head only to curl back towards his face. For a moment, they reminded Aziraphale of the striking argali sheep they'd once seen in Asia. Unlike the horns of the argali, three smaller horns jutted out around the base of each of the large ones, like a crown of thorns in miniature.

Aziraphale’s breath came in ragged pants and his pupils dilated impossibly wider until there was little more than a thin ring of sky blue around deep pits of lust. His cock twitched when Crowley locked eyes with him, opening his mouth wide to reveal sharp teeth and fangs dripping with what looked like venom. 

Aziraphale gasped, suddenly fearful of the venom's effects. How terrible it would be to get discorporated and find himself in Heaven, facing a stack of paperwork, or worse. And all with a half-hard cock. 

He kicked his legs, but to no avail. The sound of Crowley’s laughter resounded in the room and rang through to the marrow of Aziraphale’s bones, as if he were the clapper inside a cathedral bell.

_ There art no escape, Angel, _ that same voice-sensation hissed gleefully,  _ But fear not, thou shalt not be killed, my little Attendant, my Adversary. Not in any way ye might object to, even as ye might lay trapped but for thy word. _

Crowley traced a sharp-clawed finger lightly over the inside of Aziraphale’s thigh, gently reminding him of how to unbind his angelic power the very moment he might wish to no longer be at the mercy of a demon. They both knew, in no uncertain terms, that of the two of them Aziraphale was far stronger, built to be a warrior and guardian where Crowley had been made to be a creator and planner before he was stripped of that too. 

Aziraphale’s shaking subsided and he nodded, taking a deep breath and returning to the moment. Crowley hesitated still, searching for something in Aziraphale’s eyes. He must have found whatever it was because he raised Aziraphale’s legs and ripped the trousers apart at the center seams so that they hung limply from each leg, leaving Aziraphale's lower half entirely bare. 

Crowley raised Aziraphale's legs even higher and placed his feet against his horns. They were almost uncomfortably hot on the soles of his feet but certainly not too much to bear. Crowley grinned widely, showing far too many teethand a snake-like, dexterous tongue flicking along the inside of Aziraphale’s right knee, thick as the palm of Aziraphale’s hand at the base and no wider than his pinky at the split tips. The angel’s knees bent wide and splayed open the closer Crowley descended and the clawed hands moved to curl around Aziraphale’s arse, thumbs wrapped around the tops of plush thighs and holding them open as serpentine tongue snaked up Aziraphale’s thigh to curl teasingly, temptingly, around his sac. The canny, artful muscle rolled over the sensitive flesh to the sound of Aziraphale’s groans before returning from the detour to its intended path. 

The dripping tongue-tip pressed flat across Aziraphale’s hole, the ring of muscle clenching before relaxing against the impossible, hellish, wonderful heat. The venom from Crowley’s mouth was slick against his skin as the tongue pressed against him tensed and writhed against his hole, pressing in centimeter by agonizingly slow centimeter. Aziraphale threw his head back and keened loudly.He attempted to press down against the intruding force, if only to make it move faster, but Crowley’s voice rang around and through him again, ripping another moan from Aziraphale’s throat as the tongue in him vibrated as if it were connected to human vocal cords.

_ Aziraphale, Principality, take heed, for Patience is thy Virtue.  _ Crowley’s smirk was wide and bordered on cruel, _ I shalt not presume upon thee to move too fast for thy comfort...  _

Aziraphale clutched at Crowley's claws, desperate for something to hold onto as another cry was wrung from him. Impatience pooled in his gut, screaming out from  _ more _ . Venom dripped from Crowley’s lips and teeth onto Aziraphale’s arse. It flowed through him as Crowley’s impossibly deft tongue pressed ever deeper. Crowley easily kept his hips angled up from the floor, creating a plane for the overflowing venom to follow, dripping down the cleft of his arse, leaving chilled lines behind it as the air cooled his damp skin. Aziraphale's head lolled forward, chin resting on his chest, to watch Crowley unmake him only to find the wily demon's eyes were glued to his form, intense and bright as if he could consume Aziraphale's soul through watching alone. Crowley’s eyes were hypnotizing. Aziraphale found himself suddenly unable to look away, beguiled and boneless, even as Crowley moved within him, sparking a blinding, white-hot orgasm with the first firm brush of tongue over his prostate. One of Crowley's thumbs lifted from his pelvis and rubbed along the underside of Aziraphale's cock- over sensitive veins, over swollen glans, pressing hardened flesh into Aziraphale's own soft belly, relentlessly milking him of his seed. 

Moaning in prolonged ecstasy, Aziraphale writhed as much as he was able while in the clutches of the demon, as Crowley continued to tongue at his prostate, to ruin Aziraphale with the pad of his scaled thumb along the underside of his cock. He cried out in pleasure that bordered on pain as new heights and waves of euphoria spilled from his body until it ran in rivulets down the sides of his stomach, overflowing from where his essence pooled. He was sobbing and completely unable to tear his watery gaze from Crowley's eyes, the only things sharp and in focus through the blurring surroundings, until his arms collapsed beneath him with a final shudder as Crowley withdrew his tongue with sinuous slowness. 

_ Wilt thou gift me thy submission, sweet angel?  _ Crowley’s voice rung without and within Aziraphale once more, echoing through the bookshop just as it did through Aziraphale's chest.  _ Or must ye be Tempted further? Thy will might hold fast now, but each creature hath in them a point of breaking, even angels. And I vow to thee, I will find it, Principality, and I shall unmake thee.  _

Aziraphale trembled wordlessly for a moment before licking his lips and biting his cheek to force himself back into his body once more. "Thou shalt not, Serpent." The angel croaked, sounding very much like he'd been tortured, though by pleasure or pain one could not tell by voice alone. "I shall be steadfast as a pillar and unmoved as a mountain. Do thy best, fiend, thou shalt ne'er break me." Aziraphale even scraped up the audacity to smirk winsomely at Crowley, who - baited and inflamed with desire - answered with a predatory growl that knocked the breath from Aziraphale's lungs. 

_ On thy head be it.  _

Crowley released Aziraphale entirely, who grimaced lightly at the squishy feeling of venom and cum beneath his back on the floor, only to pick him up entirely with arousing ease, claws at his left hip and wrapped underneath his right arm and curling around his back for a firm grip.. He swallowed loudly and yelped in surprise as firm, scaled flesh pressed between his legs and shifted underneath him. Crowley groaned, a deep resounding bell, and two pillars of flesh grew from parting scales, thick and throbbing against Aziraphale's stomach and thighs. Aziraphale moaned and eagerly wrapped his legs around Crowley, rolling his hips along the dual lengths, slicking them with what venom spilled from his stretched hole and his own cum that dripped from his stomach until Crowley gripped him tighter to hold him still with a sharp hiss. 

The snake demon raised him up carefully until the head of one of his cocks pressed against Aziraphale's entrance, slipping in with ease and drawing another bone shaking moan from Crowley's throat. It vibrated through his body and pulled an answering moan from Aziraphale as they both adjusted to the sensation. Crowley held him there, slowly sinking into him centimeter by desperate centimeter until he was seated fully within Aziraphale. Then, he coiled his tail underneath them, leaning back into the massive, shifting piles of muscle and began to rock Aziraphale back and forth over his cock, the wide glans rubbing over Aziraphale's oversensitive prostate with every motion. Unsure of what else to do with his hands, Aziraphale licked his palms wet and wrapped them around the cock not otherwise occupied. 

"Goodness, Crowley." The angel groaned as hardened flesh beneath his hands twitched in time with Crowley's heartbeat tearing ragged breaths from the demon. 

_ Aziraphale, if you keep this up-  _

Despite not speaking with a physical mouth, Crowley was still unable to keep his words steady or put much effort into the ruse of demonic captor, as Aziraphale quickened the pace of his hands and clenched around Crowley in time, quickly bringing Crowley to the edge of completion after so long of patient, steady arousal. As soon as Aziraphale felt Crowley's hips begin to jerk unsteadily and his claws becoming just a bit too careless for his tastes, he smirked and whispered breathily, " _ Shangri-la _ ." 

Power flooded the room through the metaphysical cracks in the circle and into Aziraphale. The candles blew out, leaving only the lights of Crowley's wings and scales to see by. Crowley gasped loudly, his eyes wide, grasp loosening from around Aziraphale in worry, as he began to lower the angel to the floor to end the scene. Instead of allowing it, Aziraphale surged up throwing his Celestial power about as if it had physical weight. Caught off guard, Crowley overbalanced and spun. His back hit the floor and Aziraphale landed atop him, stunning the demon just long enough for Aziraphale to remove the clawed hands from his body and hold them in front of him by the wrists, thoroughly tipping Crowley's world upside down. 

"You see, my dear boy, evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction." The angel winked and rolled his hips once, melting any bones Crowley might have had in his body, before pulling up off the cock inside him. Aziraphale shushed Crowley's whine, no longer resounding through him now that the circle had been rendered inert, and adjusted his grip on Crowley's wrists so he could pin them against his chest with a single hand, freeing the other to guide Crowley's second cock to press up against his arse. As soon as Crowley figured out what was happening he froze, not even daring to breathe for fear of disturbing the most picturesque thing he'd ever had the pleasure of paying witness to. Aziraphale's eyes, dark as a midnight storm, locked with Crowley's own sun-bright ones. 

Angelic power cracked over Aziraphale's skin, lightning that cast eerie shadows across gold-flushed flesh. The halo manifesting in holy light behind curls glowing from within with white-hot fire. In that moment Aziraphale was the single most beautiful, awe worthy creature in all of creation and beyond. Terrifying and lovely and filling the poor demon, trapped both by love and against soft skin, with wonder better befitting prostration at the seat of the Almighty. But he felt it here instead, at the altar of Aziraphale's mercy and  _ oh God yes,  _ nestled between the expanse of his thighs. Crowley moaned and lost control over his own powers long enough for the lights across Soho to flicker as Aziraphale sunk down, stretching tightly over his cocks. Crowley's eyes rolled back into his head, lost in the utter bliss of Aziraphale's knees tight around his waist and plush arse flush against his hips, the angel having seated himself fully atop Crowley. He could no longer be entirely certain whose moans he heard at any given moment. 

"S- see?" Aziraphale panted, "Just like so." 

"Yes!  _ Yes, Angel!"  _ Crowley wailed, hands clenching and claws digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. Aziraphale rolled his hips steadily, clenching around Crowley rhythmically, and wrapping his hands around Crowley's wrists to turn his hands and place kisses on bleeding palms until the wounds sealed and Crowley was writhing, snake-like, underneath him. Lights over the whole of Soho flickered again and now the power went out entirely as a clap of thunder sounded in the distance under the sobbing refrains of  _ Aziraphale, Angel, my angel, Aziraphale! _ The demon Crowley came, filling the angel with demonic essence until it leaked from him, down Crowley's hips, and intermingled with the pool of aphrodisiac venom and angelic cum on the floor. 

Rain poured from previously clear skies and after a moment or two of silence Aziraphale laughed, a joyful and free thing. 

"I love you, my dear demon." 

"Yeah, me too, Angel." 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and suddenly a fire could be heard crackling in the back room, water for tea began to boil, and the two of them were cleaned of excess fluids. Crowley blinked and in between one heart beat and another he reverted to his usual human form beneath Aziraphale, who pressed ecstatic kisses asking his face and shoulders along previously hidden freckles. 

"Good? Because, I don't think I'd mind doing that again." Crowley murmured, slumping against the floor, nearly melting into it, with a wide grin as he enjoyed his partner's affections. 

"Very much so. But, I do have to ask- that wasn't your true form was it? It looked very differently shaped last I remember it… And what about the chalk? Didn’t smudge at all, however did you do that?" 

"Nah, figured you'd like something more, ya know, demonic. Can't fuck very well if you're stuck dealing with non-Euclidean configurations, least not while  _ you're _ stuck all human-y." Crowley paused to chuckle to himself at his own cleverness. “And the chalk was one of those new markers, goes out like a paint and  _ dries _ so it’s got to get wet to smudge again.” Aziraphale nodded at that, looking deep in thought and mildly impressed with the ingenuity of both humans and his demon alike. 

"Alright," the angel rolled off Crowley, who whined weakly at the loss of the divine body heat before definitely not squeaking in surprise, thank you, when Aziraphale scooped his lanky form up. He carried him into the back room, dense muscles flexing in an entirely human way underneath his soft curves. Crowley hummed happily and nuzzled into Aziraphale's neck, content to let himself be taken care of and to take care of Aziraphale in turn. 

"Tea, my dear?" 

"Coffee." A happy scoff. 

"Of course, you heathen." 

**Author's Note:**

> All Latin translations 
> 
> * Aziraphale, angel of GOD, sit and be bound. Principality, kneel and be bound. Thy powers be confined and thy soul be encircled within thy body.  
* Within this circle be bound, without it be free. These candles lit bind thee, this voice which spake your Name binds thee.  
* Let your voice speak a word which frees you.  
* Let that word free you. So be it.
> 
> Thank you so much to curtaincall for the Latin translation!


End file.
